Thomas Cannon, with a bachelor’s degree in English and Writing, has been writing for many years while working as a special education teacher. His story “Part of the Gift” is the lead article in the book Cup of Comfort for Parents of Children with Autism. He has had poems published in Literary Mary, Leaf Garden, The Poetry Explosion Newsletter, and Wisconsin Calendar. His short stories have been published on the following online/print publications: On the Premises, Freedom Fiction Journal, Sante Fe Writers’ Project, The Fictional Musings, and Long Story Short.

Sins of the Unfaithful

“I must tell them,” I think as my students file into the classroom. “Before my guilt overwhelms our Most Holy Father.”

“Good evening, Dr. Crahan,” one of them says. I can’t remember her name, but I know she is one of my favorites. I nod to her as she takes a seat in the front and slings her backpack to the floor. She is wearing a tight tank top and low-rise jeans that display a sliver of bare skin along her pelvic bone. That is her uniform to wear as a young and healthy student just as I wear my sport jacket and turtleneck to show I’m the hip professor. Today, God is making me feel my age, but I’ve never portrayed myself as above my students or wiser. In fact, I am surprised that she didn’t call me by my first name.

“Hi, Jim,” another one of my students greets me. This girl, walking in with a male student, hasn’t been here the last couple of classes. I told my students to call me by my first name and because she does, I feel I am connecting with her. But today, I want to be called Dr. Crahan. Today is important. Praise to God.

The classroom fills up and gets noisy. I sit on the table in the front of the room and wait for them to quiet.

I begin the class. “The Holy Spirit entered me last Tuesday and put me in a state of bliss. I didn’t deserve it.” I take a moment and pray silently. God, give me patience with your flock. I pray that I may reach them tonight and save the Pope. Amen. “As you may or may not know, I have been having an illicit affair with a student. And as you can imagine, this has put a strain on me and on my relationship with my wife. Trying to work through this situation is the reason I have been off-topic for most of my classes this semester. Now, tonight, I will hand out your choices for continuing in this class.” I divide my stack of new syllabi between the rows.

“Read with me. Choice one. Follow me on a journey and see where I take us. That means I’m done talking about Contemporary Issues in Health Care. I’ve told you all you need to know about that.

“The second choice is to withdraw from my class.” The girls, as all but two of my future nurses are women, are deathly quiet. “And take this class next semester with someone else at no extra tuition cost.

“The third choice is to complain to the Dean of Nursing. You can choose that option, but I’m tenured and it won’t affect me.”

I look at my Lord’s children. Twenty good-looking young women and the two guys. I was the only male in my undergraduate class and those two seem fruity even to me. It is time to begin. “Today, I love God. But for most of my life, I hated him and whatever direction he wanted me to go in, I would go in the opposite. But he has brought me into his fold in a special way.

“The Lord, in his infinite wisdom, has shown me the way back to my wife. She is truly one of God’s angel’s. I don’t deserve it and now I must put things right.

“In academic terms, the devil had a steel grip on me until God intervened by almost taking everything away.” The kids are silent, listening. I stand up.

“Yes the power of God’s love is great and I am here to show it to you.” I walk along the rows amongst them. “I do not know why I have been chosen. All I know is that the Holy Spirit gave me the ability to speak in tongues last Tuesday. And because I am a scholar, I have been able to learn the language quickly and can now speak it at the high school level.

“You there, don’t keep glancing over at the door. I do not have a lot of time. Why are you wasting it?” One of my wayward girls is uncomfortable with hearing my message and is looking for an escape. Now I can see why our God is an angry God. “You know our beloved John Paul is dying. Hoeka op soek na ‘n vriend. Wie jy all knotak. Hierdie blad is ‘n vriendskaplike diens en moet nie. The Lord is my Salvation. He is the light. He alone can cleanse me of sin.”

I stop and look at the girl that looked at the door. I look to the seat where my concubine used to sit. “I think now would be a good time for a break. Let’s be back in ten minutes.”

I lead them out of the room and have my cigarette lit by the time I’m out the side door. I praise God for the sweet smell of the evening air mixed in with my smoke. Bugs buzz around the light over my head. So jou inskrying na vier maande, I think, geskrap maar jy steeds onverbiddellik.

One of the male students walks toward me with his backpack swung over his right shoulder. I should remember his name, but I have had a lot of things on my mind.

“I respect your beliefs, professor, but I am not there.” He hesitates for a moment. “I think I’m just going home.”

“I understand, Jason.” The Lord gives me his name. “You are not ready for what I have to say. But how many of us really live our lives and take the chance not to run from His forgiveness that brings us all happiness?” I hug him. “Take care, Jason. I love you.”

“Ah. Thanks Jim.”

“Call me, Dr. Crahan.”

God must be proud of me, I think. Finally. But it is not near enough to save the Pope. I know what to do now. I run down the steps and pull a branch off of an evergreen tree. Then, hurrying, I duck into the custodian’s room and find an old ice cream bucket and fill it with water.

I walk back into the room with my branch dipped in water. I need to find the perfect thing to say. “Hoeka op soek na ‘n vriend. Binne ‘n redelike tyd nadat.” Then I take the doused branch and bless myself. I walk along the rows blessing God’s daughters. “There are many important issues in health care today. But I have more pressing issues.” I look at the students. Half of the class is still here. I fear though that it is not because of my message, but that they are afraid that what I say will be on the final exam. “Fear not, children. But fear. What you do has a profound effect on those around you and even those you do not know. Nuwe name wat moontlik. Nuwe name wat mootlik.

“The Pope is dying. Listen to what I have to say and we may be able to save him yet.” Erica has her hand raised. That I can remember her name must be a sign that I am doing what I need to do. “Put your God-damn hand down.”

I take a cleansing breath. “Our sweet pontiff is suffering. Now while many of you are like me and not Catholic, he is still our pontiff. And the cause of his suffering is me. You children are young. Go where your innocence leads you. But then take care of who is swayed by your sullied innocence. I don’t expect your sins to end up killing the Pope, but there are other negatives involved.

“But we need to talk about me. Why am I rambling? Jesus Christ is my savior. All praise be to him. Oh, Lord, I am heartily sorry for my transgressions against you. I see in your infinite wisdom that you have to make the Pope suffer for my sins and I am the only one that can save him.” I look up to God. I see the stained ceiling tiles, but I imagine the sky above me. “I did wrong. I have hurt my wife and my children. I have hurt you, God. I take full responsibility for my sins of the flesh.

“And in order to set things right, I hereby pledge to kill the woman that caused me to stray from my marriage.

“Amen.”

I feel drained, but good. For the first time in a long time. I needed this to be in front of this class so that this is what I will be remembered by. “Class dismissed. Have a good night, all. I love you.”

Slowly, silently, they depart. Then I wander out into the night, too. On my way to my car, I detour through the student union. I test myself by looking at the young girls as they walk by me in the hall. I am not tempted by their bodies. Even as I notice how their shirts stretch across their chests and their tight pants cling to their firm rear ends without any panty lines. I am a changed man.

Then I notice that the TV lounge is empty, but the TV is on. I go in and sit down. The truth is my wife has not let me move home yet and I have no place to wait until it’s late enough to complete my mission.

I hear a news anchor say, “—a life given in service to others.” I can’t figure out what she is talking about until I hear someone call my name and see police officers in the reflection of the screen. I put my hand to my mouth. The TV camera shows Saint Peter’s Square filled with silent people and then cuts to the bell of Arco delle Campari tolling. I am too late to atone for my sins. I am too late to save His Holiness. I always thought that I could make up for the things I did. I cry in heavy sobs for the pain I caused my wife, my lover, and my children. Myself and the world. But the Pope is dead.